


Friend of Mine

by Bad Samaritan (quodpersortem)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/Bad%20Samaritan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, when Cas comes to Dean asking for advice, surely Dean can't deny him that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friend of Mine

It’s eleven pm on a weekday in a remote village in Arkansas. It’s been a quiet evening with a soundtrack of Sam’s typing and beer bottles opening.

“Dean,” Cas says the moment he appears. He doesn’t sound afraid though, or in a particular rush, but Dean and Sam both look up, a bit of salad sticking to Dean’s chin with sauce as he continues to chew slowly on his cheeseburger. 

“Yeah?” he says around his food. Sam looks at him with a disgusted look and Dean just rolls his eyes before kicking at Sam’s leg to get him to stop that. 

“Can I talk to you, Dean?” Instead of an angel, today he looks a bit like a lost puppy, Dean thinks. It’s kind of endearing. “In private, please?” 

This time it’s Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “I was just heading out to the supermarket to get some more supplies. Do you need anything?” 

“No,” Dean tells him. “But don’t forget to take some tampons for yourself.” That earns him a smack around the head but Cas smiles a little which means it’s totally worth it.

“So, what’s up?” Dean asks as soon as Sam’s closed the door behind him. He won’t ever admit it to Sam—or anyone else—but he feels kind of privileged whenever Cas turns to him for help rather than anyone else. 

“I’m hurt-“ and that’s all Cas manages to say before Dean starts to ask, “How” and “Who did it?” and “Where?” 

“It’s not-“ Cas says and blushes. “I don’t-“ and before Dean’s had a chance to protest, Cas is unbuttoning his pants and dropping them along with his underwear. And okay, so, maybe Dean was a little curious but this is something he isn’t sure he wanted to see. He isn’t sure if it was a good thing for him to see.

“Shit, Cas!” Then he’s facing the wall and Cas is facing his back but the image of Cas’ erection etched itself into his brain. “That’s not something I-“ Dean swallows dryly, his heart pounding and blood rushing to his groin. “Okay, so. What’s the problem?” 

“What do I do?” Cas sounds miserable even as he asks it, not just pained but also horribly embarrassed.

Dean takes a deep breath. “You take care of it. You’ll just- Well. You’ve seen what us humans do, right? With your all-encompassing eye?”

He can hear Cas shuffle around behind him, and Dean freezes when he realizes what his friend’s doing. “Christ, not now, Cas! This is why they call it alone time, solo, whatever. Just, oh for Christ’s sake,” he can’t believe he’s having this conversation, “Don’t stand up but lay down. It’ll be better. And I’ll, eh, be back in ten minutes.” 

With that he stalks out, still not looking at Cas (definitely not looking at Cas). Then he fishes a can of beer from the Impala and breathes in the cold night air. He needs it, okay. He sends Sam a message that he can take his time, that Cas’ problem might take a while to solve but there’s nothing to worry about and everything’ll be fine in an hour.

When Dean gets back into the room ten minutes later, Cas is lying on his back on one of the beds, and at least he’s wearing boxer shorts (thank God—though it still shows his dick at half-mast and—Jesus they’re Dean’s).

“And, how was it?” Dean can’t help but ask, his brain short-circuiting when he tried to come up with something else.

Cas sits up and looks at him blankly. “I do not understand why you like this so much.” His voice is level and he isn’t flushed or sweaty. Dean wrinkles his brow.

“Did you even come?” 

“No.” 

“For how long did you try?” 

“Five minutes. This vessel did not seem to respond very much.”

“Ugh,” Dean says before he recovers himself. Cas hasn’t had a lot of practice at this stuff, after all. 

Not practical experience, anyway. “What, uh, what did you do? Like, did you even try to make this good for yourself?”

Cas shrugs. “I moved my hand up and down. That is what you do too, isn’t it.” 

“It’s not,” Dean says and suddenly Cas looks up from underneath his eyelashes, naïve and bashful and dirty all at once.

“Show me?” he says.

“Excuse me?” Dean manages to stutter out, almost choking on air. There is no way Cas could’ve said that. But then he repeats himself, and Dean thinks that maybe he just imagined the dirty look in Cas’ eyes.

“Show me.” 

It’s a statement then, nothing sexual per se, just Cas asking for something the way he always asks for something.

“For God’s sake, I-“ Dean starts, and fuck, he can feel color creep up his neck, feel the blood rush to his groin. He’d like to tell Cas, “I’m not gay,” or “We shouldn’t,” but then Cas opens his eyes a little wider, his gaze flickering down to Dean’s groin for a second before his eyes settle on Dean’s again.

“You showed me pie, Dean.” Cas is still staring. “Cheeseburgers. You have even tried to show me this before.” 

“Not with-“ Dean chokes on his own words then and something like this has never happened to him before—nothing about this bears any similarities to Dean’s usual one-night stands (where Dean is the one who seduces, where Dean is the one who is confident, where Dean is the one who licks, breathes, fucks _pussy_ ).

“It’s not different.” Cas spreads his legs a little and he probably doesn’t even _realize_ it’s obscene as fuck. His mouth is opened slightly and when Dean looks, quickly, he sees Cas is hard all the way. “You still want it.” 

Dean moves around uncomfortably for a second (trust Cas to look right through him). Then he decides _fuck it_ and he pulls off his jacket, throwing it across a chair. He kicks off his shoes while he’s at it as well. 

“Show me how you do it and then I’ll show you how to do it properly, all right.” His body is on fire. Then he has to think for a moment, briefly considering to sit up against the headboard with Cas between his legs—surely it’s easier to jack off someone else when the angle’s at least similar. “Turn to your side,” he says then, and when Cas wants to turn to his right side, Dean says, “No, your left.” 

Cas nods and does as Dean says. Dean settles in behind him, spooning him. Even with clothes on, he can feel how Cas’ back is a furnace, he can smell the shampoo in Cas’ still slightly-damp hair from the shower he took earlier. He settles a hand on Cas’ hip and breathes in the scent he supposes must’ve been Jimmy’s once, but is all Cas nowadays.

“You good?” he asks and he can feel how Cas nods, hair tickling his face. “Ok. Show me.” He grabs Cas’ hips, shoving the boxer briefs down over smooth skin. Dean shivers and he can feel Cas do so too.

Cas puts his hand to his cock, tentative and unsure and the way Dean imagines he must’ve done when he was twelve. Then he moves, slowly and off-rhythm and even from over Cas’ shoulder, Dean can see he’s not gripping hard enough, that he doesn’t know the right places to squeeze and rub and tease.

“You won’t break if you squeeze a little harder,” he whispers in Cas’ ear, and Castiel nods. “Keep going.” 

Dean initially thought he might just talk Cas through it, because he feels awkward and excited, but now that he’s here, he can’t keep his hands off of Cas.

He starts by touching Cas’ nipples, lightly. Dean doesn’t usually do this himself, but if he’s honest with himself (and Cas probably already knows this, too), he wants to make this good for Cas because, well, it _is_ his first time.

Then he trails his fingers lightly down Cas’ chest, and down to his stomach—when they reach his bellybutton Cas starts to squirm and Dean presses his mouth to Cas’ shoulder, stifling a laugh. Then his hand closes over Cas’. Castiel lets out a gasp when Dean squeezes, experimentally, their fingers entwining as he does so. 

Dean feels how Cas withdraws his hand, reaching back instead, gripping at Dean’s hip through his jeans. One of his fingers slides inside the pocket and Dean grunts a little at the pressure. When he tugs at Cas then, Cas all but yelps. He pants and mutters in a language Dean doesn’t understand. Then he pulls again and Cas’ hips buck into his hand on their own accord. 

After the first few tentative strokes, experimental and new and so fucking strange, Dean starts to work on Cas’ dick in earnest. There is the feeling of a dry slip-and-slide of his hand on skin—but Cas seems to like it, more than Dean himself does (he’s more a lube kind of guy). Cas is gasping and writhing against him, especially when Dean pauses for a little while to rub at the head with his finger, hot and silky and taut-smooth the way his own is, eliciting wonderful sounds from Cas. 

“More,” Cas is babbling, his hand squeezing at Dean’s hip. “More, please, Dean, I need- You must- _More_.” 

Dean doesn’t think when he presses his free hand between Cas’ hands, rubbing his finger at the soft skin between Cas’ balls and hole. Cas is talking constantly now--Dean wouldn’t have taken him for a loud person in any situation but apparently he’s wrong there—and most of what he’s saying is “Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean”. It only makes Dean press his own aching hard on against Cas’ thigh.

He squeezes a little tighter and twists his wrist, but Cas doesn’t come until Dean presses his mouth against Cas’ skin, his tongue flicking out and tasting sweat. Then he’s shooting his load across the bed spread, some strings making it all the way up to his chin, while some more clings to Dean’s fingers.” Dean,” Cas keeps chanting throughout it, “Dean, Dean, you, come on, Dean,” as his body trembles under Dean’s slowing touch.

Dean grunts and pushes himself flush against Cas once he’s done, gone slack in Dean’s arms. He sucks a kiss into the soft skin of Cas’ neck. With the angel’s finger still pressed at the crook of his thigh, Dean quickly opens his jeans and squeezes himself through his underwear. His knuckles brush the backs of Cas’ smooth thighs, and then he’s coming as well, sticky-wet and too-hot in his pants.

Then they’re just pressed together, breathing heavily as their bodies relax into each other. Dean sits up and pulls up the covers. When he lays back down, he slips a hand around Cas’ waist and Castiel sighs.

“I waited,” Cas says eventually, when Dean’s nodded off so far he isn’t sure he’s heard it right, at first. “This body, its urges-“ and Dean wants to tell Cas that it’s okay, that they don’t have to discuss it—he wants to say the right thing but he doesn’t know what to say.

So instead, when Cas turns around and looks up at him, his big blue eyes filled with wonderment and curiosity, Dean leans in for a kiss.

He can feel Cas smile against his skin, understanding.

-

By the time Sam returns, they’re showered and if Sam notices anything (which he most likely does, judging from the raise of his eyebrows), he doesn’t tell.


End file.
